The Worst Sherlock Fanfiction Ever
by lalagirl16
Summary: Crack fic. May chaos ensue as we make fun of overused cliches. Happy April Fools!


**So for April Fools, I decided to post this crack fix that I wrote with my friend. Please enjoy. And remember to review if this made you laugh or burning with anger out of the pure stupidity!**

Chapter Pengwing

The air was warm, the sun was shining, and everybody was having a super day. It seemed as though nothing could hinder the shining mood of the town. But this story is not about that. This story is about a day that started as a foggy, lazy morning at 221B Baker Street. The world outside the window seemed grim as the couple gazed at it. John Watson was sitting in 221B with his beautiful and also murderous wife, Mary. He glanced over at her, in all her beauty. Her gothic clothing sense, and murderous look in her eyes couldn't keep John from loving her, that cuddly kitten assassin. He took a slow, bored sip of his tea. But then, suddenly, John slammed his cup down, stood up and screamed, "I'm hella gay!"

Tea splashed onto the table. Mary, aghast, looked at John in horror. Without a second thought, he pushed Mary out of the window and she died. Meanwhile, Sherlock barely glanced from his microscope, mumbling, "That's nice, John." John then proceeded to turn to his friend, his gaze slipping across the sharp cheekbones of the sexy sociopathic, Sherlock Holmes. John crossed the room, shoving the microscope across the kitchen and planting a huge, aggressive kiss right on him.

"Oh John," Sherlock said. "I may be an asshole and a shut-in, but my hair is curly and my coat is awesome, so it's about time you fell for me. Everyone is gay for Sherlock."

"Oh no, Sherlock. I'm just hella gay. And I'm a hella gay murderer now. Does that turn you on?" Sherlock flipped up the collar of his coat dramatically, no one questioning why he was wearing it inside.

"Oh yesssss..." he said with a smile. Then he started kissing John very aggressively. They made out for 20 minutes.

Suddenly, the door opened with a slam, Mrs. Hudson coming in with a robe on. They pulled off each other quickly, watching the old woman cautiously. She stared for a moment, and then shrugged, walking past them and moving into the kitchen.

"...Mrs. Hudson?" Sherlock asked, confused.

Suddenly, she whipped off the robe to reveal a disgustingly small outfit for such an elderly woman.

"If you can make out in the kitchen, I CAN BE A STRIPPER!" she screamed, before swaying her hips out of the flat, with a cup of tea in hand. Then she hopped on top of the table and started twerking. John and Sherlock watched the hypnotic movement with awe, before returning to their heated makeout. Then Lestrade and the rest of the British police came barging into the apartment.

"Which one of you murdered Mary Watson?" he asked, chugging a beer.

"Oh hello, Gonzo," said Mrs. Hudson as she shook her old lady booty.

"IT'S GREG!" Lestrade shouted at the top of his lungs. He got so mad that he was forced to let out his anger by ripping off his shirt and joining Mrs. Hudson in twerking on the table.

"DID I HEAR SOMEONE SAY MURDER?!" Sherlock asked, jumping up from under John, and bouncing like a small, drug affected, slightly mutated child. Unfortunately, the quick motion caused Sherlock to stub his toe and fall over.

"Oh no, Sherlock!" John screamed. "No... I killed Mary to be with you!"

"I knew it was you," Lestrade said as he kept twerking. "But that's not my division."

"No John, it's okay, I'm fine. I just stubbed my toe. So, wanna keep making out?" Sherlock asked, plastering himself with nicotine patches.

"LIES! YOU ARE JUST ANOTHER HALLUCINATION! YOU ARE REALLY DEAD!"

"No! Please you have to believe me!" Sherlock said, shooting up with more drugs.

"I CAN DO WHATEVER THE FUCK I WANT TO SHERLOCK! I AM THE DOMINANT ONE! GAVIN?! Is this Sherlock?!"

"Not my division," Greg groaned, doing the cha cha. "AND ITS GREG FOR GODS SAKE!"

"What are we going to tell the children! You can't be dead!" John screeched hysterically.

"We don't have any kids!" Sherlock screamed back.

"I adopted ten! They are all named Hamish!"

"Who is the mother?!"

John pointed to the corner, Molly slipping out of the shadows, from behind the still standing crowd of British police that were busy watching Greg and Mrs. Hudson.

Sherlock's jaw dropped, "But Molly, I thought you had something for me!"

"I actually liked John the whole time! Though Mycroft is cute too; he gives me free cake." She said, smiling a bit.

Mycroft nodded in the corner, holding the blue umbrella above his head.

"When did you come in?" Sherlock questioned.

"Dear brother, who I secretly love like a good brother though I try to hide it because I am supposed to be a cold and authoritative figure in your life," Mycroft started. "The British Government sees EVERYTHING." He stole a glance at Mrs. Hudson's shaking butt and smiled.

Mrs. Hudson shot the older Holmes brother a seductive look, and Mycroft joined Lestrade and the landlady on the twerking table and the three of them all made out while simultaneously twerking.

Sherlock and the ten Hamish's watched in horror, John trying to shield their precious eyes.

"Hey, weren't we trying to solve a murder here?" Anderson called from the corner.

"Ah, yes we were," John remembered. Suddenly, his face fell, "If only Sherlock was alive, we could solve it."

Everyone sighed collectively, remembering the fallen man.

"We will all miss him," Molly said.

"Of course dear," said Mrs. Hudson as she twerked. Mycroft has taking a break from slutty dancing to eat cake out of his blue umbrella.

"Oh, sod this." Sherlock groaned, going down the stairs to observe the body of the said deceased.

The entire British police force followed the man who looked a lot like the late Sherlock Holmes like minions. Sherlock leaned down and examined Mary's dead body.

"Based off of the way her hair is parted, the position of the clouds, and this woman's favorite type of ketchup, I can now deduce that this woman was pushed out of that window by John Watson and fell to her death."

"But sir, how can you tell?" A group of them chimed simultaneously.

"See!" Sherlock said, pointing haphazardly.

"Ohh! It's obvious!" They said, understanding instantly. Then they all formed a mosh pit and Sherlock crowd-surfed. They carried him, in all his glory, to the capital, where he was knighted and made chairman of the EU. John, seeing the news, realized that Sherlock wasn't actually dead. #NOTDEAD, floated across the screen, amazing John. He turned to the group, eyes wide.

"He's not dead." John whispered. Gasps seeped throughout the flat. Even Anthea looked up from her phone. Then then had a really heartfelt reunion and shit.

27 years later...

Screams and gunfire echoed around the yard, but the solemn feeling of the event could not be ruptured. Molly blew her nose into a tissue, clinging to Mycroft, tears welling up in her over-emotional eyes. Lestrade frowned, his hand wrapped around another beer. John and Sherlock stood, hand in hand, tears in John's eyes, and a slight, unexpected melancholy look edging Sherlock's.

"We are gathered here today to celebrate the life of a dear friend." The words of the funeral director had to be louder than usual to be heard over the roaring sounds of fire in the distance.

Since Mrs. Hudson's death, England had literally fallen. Whether it was actually caused by her death or not, the world was unsure, but it was bad either way. North Korea finally got the guts up to actually bomb someone, and they were experiencing get several bomb attacks each day. The stock market had crashed, and the British government, besides the money that each official had personally, had lost all its wealth. Natural disaster struck. Now unfunded nuclear and coal plants started to meltdown, causing extreme stress that England didn't have enough money before.

The sky was now permanently gray with smog. Another plague had broken out, surrounding the streets with waste and dead corpses.

"In life, Mrs. Hudson was a beautiful, well mannered woman, even with her quirks." They all cast a glance at the rhinestone covered bra that was set across the headstone.

After the funeral, everyone began to retire home, rushing to their cars in hopes to make it to their bomb shelters before the next raids.

The Watson-Holmes's parents and ten Hamishs piled into their large, expensive bus.

Molly and Mycroft whisked away Mandarin, Madrid, Mosely, Marium, and Mulan back to their studies at home.

Also Irene Adler became Amish.

The End.


End file.
